


Reason For Living

by GrowlingPeanut



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Suicide, Swearing, Trauma, not really sabriel but kind of, post-season 13
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2019-08-04 07:59:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16342910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrowlingPeanut/pseuds/GrowlingPeanut
Summary: For once, Sam's grateful he left his phone on.





	Reason For Living

_Bzzt bzzt bzzt._ Sam’s hand slapped down over his phone as he rolled over with a barely-audible groan. Who in the _hell_ would be texting him this late at night? ...or was it morning? Whatever, the point still stood. He squinted at the small, bright screen for a minute, wondering whether to send back a snarky response or just ignore—

Those seven innocuous letters brought his train of thought to a cold stop. The simple, single-line message underneath them almost did the same to his heart.

[ _i’m not okay_ ]

Swallowing, he forced his sleep-stiff fingers to tap out a reply. [ _I’m here._ ] For a few seconds, nothing. And then the bubble popped up at the bottom of the screen. _Gabriel is typing…_

[ _everything hurts_ ]

Something grabbed at Sam’s lungs, something hot and constricting. He fought to swallow again. [ _Can I help?_ ]

_Gabriel is typing…_ It would appear. Disappear. Reappear. Sam just watched it. Several minutes later, he got an answer. It was shorter than he'd been expecting.

[ _i don't know_ ]

Sam stared at the words, chewing his lip, wracking his brain. And then, another.

[ _i feel worthless_ ]  
[ _like i don't belong anywhere_ ]  


Sam was already preparing a reply, but the next message turned his gut to ice and froze his fingers along with it.

[ _sometimes i wonder why i keep trying to stay alive_ ]  
And then almost immediately:  
[ _fuck. sorry_ ]  
[ _this isn't your problem, kiddo, i'm sorry_ ]  
[ _i should shut up. never been good at that, really_ ]

Sam's finger was moving toward the little phone icon before he could stop himself. It rang once. Twice. Three times. Four. Five. Six. After the seventh, he heard noise from the other end, followed by a familiar voice, though it sounded slightly distant.

“Please go back to sleep, Sam.” Gabriel sounded exhausted. Quiet. “I'm sorry. I'm gonna hang up—”

Frantic worry was starting to claw its way through the cold that gripped Sam's body, crawling through his chest, into his throat, out of his mouth. “Gabriel, don't. Please. Talk to me.”

There was a hollow laugh, and then, “Shit, I really did wake you up, huh? You sound like you deepthroated some sandpaper.” Static crackled as Gabriel sighed, then continued, the fatigue bleeding back into his voice. “It's, uh...it’s nothing new. Just guess tonight I thought I'd…” He trailed off. “I really am sorry. Just forget this happened, okay?”

“I can't.” For a long time, Sam heard nothing on the other end, not even breathing. Just as he was about to check that the call hadn't disconnected, Gabriel spoke.

“How often is a normal frequency to think about...ending it? Just...twisting the knife and giving up.”

The worry turned to panic, but Sam kept it out of his voice. He tried to forget he was talking to an archangel. This wasn't therapy. This was helping a friend. Someone who knew how it felt to have to reclaim an identity that had been all but erased. So he asked the question he'd want to hear. “What’s one thing that would make you stay?”

“I've gotten into the habit of asking myself that,” Gabriel murmured. “Been getting harder to answer lately.”

“Anything,” Sam encouraged. “Sunsets, or...a certain song. You could even say ice cream or porn, I won't judge.”

Gabriel laughed again, and Sam was relieved to hear a thread of warmth in it. “Those are all compelling cases, but…” He quieted again. “But right now?” Sam heard him take a breath and let it out slowly. “I think it might be you.”


End file.
